//------------------------------// // Chapter 16: Tick-Tock Pitter-Patter // Story: Millennial Heartstrings // by The Apologetic Pony //------------------------------// And they lived a life of joy. Oh, such joy! The kind of bliss Equestria became known for. A paradise that appeared so close to perfection, it was almost... dull? No, that’s not fair to say. But I certainly didn’t need to be there. It was as a dog loyal to a master, but this time, the dog was the one to outlast them all. I was left swaying in the wind. Fortunately, there was no great suffering for me to bear; to bear witness to, but I was left with a lingering, melancholic, envy. I’d seen it before, though hoped it would not be a part of the aftertaste as it is. They did treat me well; I was never forgotten, just ignored at times. Their deaths certainly darkened my view on the world, even if they lived happily. Somewhere in time, the ‘I like you’ turned into a ‘I love you’ that was met by an enthusiastic ‘Well why didn’t you say so?! How queer, I go on about them for -- what, pages? Yet like the passing of time, I throw them away in a few sentences. Dementia took Nile, leaving his partner, Lealla, more-or-less grief stricken until the end of her days. They never married, thought it superfluous, unbreakable loyalty already clear, trust already strong. It took several years before Lealla did get a job, much due to Nile’s nagging insistence as it became clear her parents were content to leaving their daughter to her own devices. But now these facts come to me as mere a drop in a gushing river. As I’ve said before, pain is the only thing I remember clearly, so perhaps it is reassuring that I remember little of the remainder of their lives. Especially considering I’ve looked back in visceral bitterness. They never got the name right either. They settled with Philly, (or Filly?). The Gliders dissipated into nothing some years after her death, though she’d finished leading it long before. Like us all, their dreams, their ideals and personalities were buried in a mountain of souls so diligently hoarded by time itself, personified by the fiction of our minds. Or, you are wiser than me, hahaha. May I imply no sarcasm, eh? There were groups like the Gliders later, the wing’s (limited) use became allowed and it even opened up to some brave ponies. I think more of their time was spent watching then participating themselves, though I do hope their moral support was appreciated. They were more skillful in many ways partly because remnants of the techniques learned by the Gliders floated around in idle observation. There was a brief span of time where specialised straight jackets to trap griffin’s wings were sold, for those who fancied an old-school challenge were sold commercially; that was the zenith of its popularity. As for me; I distractedly roamed Equestria. It seemed to be becoming the standard response after I’d lost someone I cared about. Dare I call them loved ones? I think it was to contemplate. After all, don’t forget someone like me wasn’t supposed get involved in such quickly dying creatures, such butterflies as mortals might call them. And for all the times I did, I still couldn't get used to it. I met a fellow phoenix, for once! Not one I knew well... Admittedly I hardly knew any phoenixes anymore. I’d isolated myself by communing with the mortals as he told me. Rumours of being set on a ‘dark path,’ that I was charging in with reckless abandon and my time was nigh. Shunned by morality, as so many others. He even went so far as to mention one he didn’t believe, I’d gone to see the hydra, the angel of death itself. I asked about my mother and father but he had little information to part except to say he’d seen Mother some years ago (not a particularly long time for us). Apparently she was distressed about something. I’d go and console, or at listen to her if I could bloody well find her! We’re talking about three hundred years prior to Luna’s return, about half a century after the death of my latest companion... There were a great many developments in Equestria around then and along came with it a cultural boom. The most famous Starswirl, (The Bearded) contributed his own advancements into the world of magic and quite a few disasters. It’s a shame, I wanted to meet him, but his constantly shifting location was kept a secret, by Celestia or Starswirl I know not. The few times I did catch a glance of him, a guard was always in the way to stop me from reaching the recluse. He brought about the accidental creation of the Timberwolf, but nobody was aware of their existence until an entire half-century later, so no one made the connection, well, except her I suppose. Perhaps even Starswirl didn’t, though I doubt that their existence solely within the Everfree Forest was a mere coincidence. I suspect that was where he conducted his ‘special’ experiments, away from the watchful eye of his mentor. I never saw him there but believe me, those stupid rainbow-coloured apples weren’t around until he came around. If that was indeed his secret workshop, he was lucky not to be eaten up by a certain creature in a certain bog. But this is just speculation from one who is well placed to speculate, nothing more, rambling speculation at that. Maybe you're interested. I remember paying a visit to Yanhoover, curious to see if I’d be hit by a wave of pathetic nostalgia and how much it’d changed. I didn’t feel much of anything, honestly. The old tombstones had been rendered nameless; forgotten for far longer, although some of the dates still remained just about legible. More colour than before to fit in with the times. As misty as ever; as gloomy as ever. The rain was heavy that night. I’d always liked the rain, found something balletic about it, something poignant. It lashed at the leaves and pattered on the ground, just as the benign smell of it reached my nostrils. The thunder that accompanied it boomed through the trees of Galloping Gorge, out of sync with the flashes. And so the sky was blackened with angry clouds. Furrows of Poison-Joke were soaked and drooping, unhappy at being unable to have their fun with the rain and how it drove it’s usual playmates to more civilised places. I say ‘playmates’ because, one couldn’t call its effects harmful beyond a potential revealing of an inept sense of humour. Which was more commonly than not laughed at in itself. I’d come from another trip to Yanhoover, only a day westwards and I didn’t fancy the idea of trying to sleep getting drenched in the downpour. I took it upon myself to find shelter, the most obvious of which was in one of the caves in the many mountains. They all looked rather imposing, peaks stretching into the sky like that, set against a grey backdrop with snakes of lightning. The dark green of the forest below it made it look as though it wanted to malevolently spread across the land, until there remained only but the smallest patches of hollow ground. I picked the closet inlet and was glad to be an observer of the photogenic scene rather than a part of it. Likely how heads of war saw it -- to be above the gory battlefield, or even better, tyrants separated from the piss-filled streets, as crooked parallels. I got the sensation of there being someone big behind me, very big. Before I’d turned around, I felt my feathers being ruffled by an incredibly organic gust of wind. I knew what it was; my heart lurched a little at the thought. Not because it was forbidding, not because it was likely older than me, but because we’d be taught to. ‘Hello there,’ the dragon said gruffly. I spun around to see the massive creature a few meters away, peering at me me with piercing green eyes. He was prone, lazily scratching at the ground. His scales were shaded turquoise, and I could hardly make out the tip of his green spines behind his face. There was surely a stash of treasure behind him, through the gaps I could see around him, there was only black. ‘Hello.’ I squealed a little. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t bite. I’d just eat you instead,’ he said as he slammed his mouth closed, causing the entire cave to quiver in awe. He didn’t laugh, or smile, but it didn’t seem like a threat. Although the long diagonal scar running from the bottom of his eye to his jaw didn’t help convince me. ‘What is a little birdie like you doing in my cave?’ ‘Just passing through, friend.’ ‘Randomly stumbling upon the only dragon for miles? Or are you a spy?’ ‘Just who would I be spying for?’ ‘Your eyes are too hard.’ Who knew fully-grown dragons could pinpoint eyes less a tenth the size of theirs? ‘And yours aren’t?’ He rose up for a moment, then decided against it, lowering himself back down to the earth. Instead looking at the marks his claws had made on his right, while making more on the left, dispirited. Curious, I asked him: ‘How long have you been here?’ ‘I lose count. I sleep. The sun rises, the moon falls. I restrain myself from my nature. To seek an endless hoard and burn them all for it.’ ‘Why aren’t you with the rest of them?’ ‘Those Dragons? They don’t like me,’ his eyes flicked to the white stripe on his face, ‘I don’t want anyone to die. And if I survived, it’d only fuel my bloodlust. But maybe I should let myself go, have some fun before I’m slain. Who’s supposed to be benevolent when he’s lived this long? And not like you little bride, I’m only mortal. But I suppose you already knew that.’ He spoke with deliberate, weary slowness, letting sounds ring through and out of the cave before uttering the next. It made him either look inebriated, or drunk in thought. Dragons were exceptional at hiding their age once they were beyond the teenage years, but it wasn’t difficult to see this scaley thing was of the oldest. Deep, slow breaths masked their streunity; his claws were dull and blunt. ‘What’s stopping you? A dying conscience?’ ‘Not quite, more of an intrinsic fear of death... Some part of me that’s convinced I’ll be patient enough to wait for my flame to die. At best, a recollection of what it was like it was to be young.’ He paused, glancing at the rain behind me, then at me and then returned to staring at his markings on the ground. They were becoming messy spirals. ‘What about you birde, how do you see it?’ Was I supposed to know? I hadn’t thought of them as worth mentioning since hearing the views and thoughts from they who had time finite, nurturing to a degree. I hadn’t really thought about my own. ‘Who knows? I just, float; I don’t know why. Not much for me to do anymore; I help the butterflies, but as you know, I’m sure, it does more harm to us then any good it’ll give to them-’ ‘A real philanthropist aren’t you?’ He sneered. ‘Is the world too cynical for it to be a myth?’ ‘No. Just me,’ it was gradually turning into a gleeful; sinister smile. His drawing claw edged its way towards me and the scratchings were getting louder as it did so. This was rapidly becoming somewhat psychotic. Thunder cracked, illuminating his scales and temporarily transforming his green eyes to a shocking white. Lacking a specific tangent of conversation to go down, I kept my question vague and open, I wanted him to do the talking. ‘How long would you have to wait for?’ ‘Shorter then I suspect and longer than I’d want. I like you. You think they matter, don’t you? Does it make you feel good, watching them live and die? Is your puny heart strong enough, or are you simply addicted to fondling at your own heartstrings? Everything else too dull for you anymore? That’s how it goes, isn’t it, bride?’ His scar twisted with his features in utter jocularity at this position of power he found himself in: I stood before him, dumbfounded and amazed at how he echoed my doubt so coherently. He liked me for his mocking. Desperate to convince myself, I played a glib devil’s advocate. ‘What if it is? It looks like I’m doing better than you and your deathwish, mortal. Go and see Celestia, she’s infamous for killing everyone she comes across, she’s a real grim reaper! If I have abandoned the duty of principle, there’s nothing holding me back anymore. I am free, I am obliged to no one but myself and I can play with the lesser for my own amusement. Lesser like you. All with a brilliantly stone heart! More than anyone could ever dream!’ I wasn’t sure whose opinion it was anymore. I wasn’t certain I ever had been. He lost some interest with me on that; manic expression fading; eyes looking elsewhere and claw ceasing to draw on the cave floor. The dragon, seemingly bored once more softly swiped his tail behind him, relaxing his tense shoulders, returning to the calmer state I’d found him in. Though those eyes of his were a little shinier. ‘Are you going, birde of ages? Humbler of dragons?’ ‘Yes, I think I am, elder.’